


Dreams

by TheConsultantCriminal



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternative RBF Ending, M/M, Sheriarty - Freeform, blowjob, mormor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-23 02:31:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8310286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheConsultantCriminal/pseuds/TheConsultantCriminal
Summary: Jim Moriarty often dreams of The Fall, but his version of events aren't quite the same.





	

"Yes, but I am not my brother, remember?"

Oh, no he wasn't; that had been clear from the beginning. Sherlock Holmes was nothing like his brother, and as the man drew closer, leaving a mere foot of air between them, Jim thought he felt something catch at the back of his throat. A flicker of desire, passing in a fraction of a second but unmissable nonetheless. The end was nearing, and  _oh_ how he wanted it. The peak. The climax. The cresendo of their little game that meant so much more than a few simple murders.

"I am you. Prepared to do anything. Prepared to  _burn_. Prepared to do what ordinary people won't do. You want me to shake hands with you in hell? I shall not disappoint you."

And what a thought that was. The famous detective, willing to commit himself to an eternity of suffering just to ensure his greatest adversary met the same fate. Willing to  _burn_ , with the Irishman at his side. If he'd been able to drag his attention away from the ice cold eyes locked onto his own, Jim would have marvelled at how his all-too-good counterpart had wooed him with such ease, invading his mind and refusing to leave. There was only one way that this could end.

Though a smirk was tugging at the corners of his lips, the criminal mastermind settled for a small shake of his head, lips parting as he gazed up at the man who was almost his equal.

"Nah. You talk big. Nah, you're ordinary. You're ordinary, you're on the side of the angels."

Even as he spoke, his eyes deviated, gaze dropping momentarily to sweep over Sherlock's face, focusing on his lips ever so briefly before returning to meet the sharp blue of the taller man's. Perhaps the detective had noticed. Perhaps he hadn't. But the way his own lips parted in return, pupils blown to almost double their previous size, rather strongly suggested the former.

"Oh I may be on the side of the angels, but don't think for one  _second_ that I am one of them."

Jim let the statement hang between them, moments passing as he drew in a slow breath, searching the detective's eyes for the answer he already knew. No, Sherlock was no angel. No angel would dance so intimately with the devil. As his lips twisted into a smirk, the criminal watched his rival adopt a matching expression, the pair allowing their linked gaze to linger for a few seconds longer before Jim found himself smoothing his hands over the front of the other's coat, tongue swiping across his lips.

"We'll see about that."

He barely gave the detective time to analyse his words before taking a firm grip on the lapels of his coat, tugging sharply to bring Sherlock's lips to his own and claiming the man's mouth in a urgent kiss. All teeth and tongue, Jim could feel the man groan against his lips as he surrendered to the sensation, eyes flicking closed and hands hesitantly moving to the crimnal's shoulder and hip respectively. They didn't break for air; they didn't need to. The heat increased between them with every passing moment as they threw off their inhibitions, Sherlock's confidence growing as the detective bit down on Jim's lower lip before throwing off his coat and pulling the smaller man in flush against his slender form.

Growling into the passionate liplock, the criminal shoved his weight into the other man, forcing him back against the door into the hospital and ripping at his shirt, buttons flying around the rooftop as his hands finally met a suprisingly muscular, pale chest, the Irishman wasting no time in digging his nails into the smooth flesh, scratching deeply and eliciting a wonderful groan from his rival. Before long, he had Sherlock writhing against the friction between their hips, back arched against the door as countless deliciously lewd sounds passed from his lips, the detective tugging urgently at the Irishman's trousers. Jim didn't even notice the sound of his own name at first as he bit down on the pale throat of the man already covered in countless marks, this time drawing blood with a hum of delight, relishing how it made Sherlock squirm against him.

_James?_

As much as he wanted to ignore it, Jim couldn't help but frown at the sound of his sniper's voice, the moment it took to wonder what the hell Sebastian was doing there enough for the dream to slip away, leaving the rather disgruntled criminal blinking away his sleep with a frown. Of course it was Sebastian. After all, who other than his rather irritating sniper would dare disturb such an enjoyable evening?

"You were dreaming of him again, weren't you?"

The blonde's words were met with a dismissive grunt as Jim heaved himself up into a seated position, shoving away the blankets as if they were at fault for allowing the sniper to disturb his dream. It seemed the man wanted an answer, however, the the criminal huffed softly, rolling his eyes. 

"I don't know what you're talking about, Moran. Now get out of my way." 

If it were anyone else, Jim would have punished them on the spot for smirking at him the way Sebastian did, the Irishman's eyes narrowing as his employee's pointed gaze toward his crotch pointed out the rather obvious swelling in his underwear. Thankfully with enough self-control to prevent his cheeks from flushing at the realisation, he was about to utter a sharp retort when the taller man took a step forward, boldly placing his hands on his employer's chest and slowly pushing him down onto his back on the bed.

"I may not be a brilliant detective, but I do have a rather good mouth,  _sir._ And if you close your eyes, perhaps you could forget I'm just a lowly sniper."

Before Jim had a chance to protest, Sebastian had settled between his legs, offering him a wink as he began to mouth at him through his boxers. Damn sniper. Always so infuriatingly good at knowing when his boss would be unable to say no. And  _fuck_ , he wasn't lying, the criminal reluctanly letting out a faint groan as a hot tongue circled his slit through the thin material of his boxers. Closing his eyes, he let his head sink back into the pillows with a grunt, muttering out a few words when the sniper withdrew to tug the boxers down to his knees, cold air running over his throbbing arousal.

"Just get on with it, will you."

With a low chuckle, Sebastian met his request, stealing another groan from his employer as he took the man into his mouth, Jim's fingers curling as he was engulfed in a deliciously wet heat, hips canting up into the contact. No, the blonde wasn't Sherlock Holmes, but at the moment he was enough, soon drawing a moan from the smaller man as he swallowed around his girth, throat constricting around his tip in a way that sent a jolt of pleasure along his spine. Another swallow, then he was bobbing his head, adding just enough teeth to pull the filthiest of sounds from the criminal mastermind, Sebastian knowing exactly how his boss needed it. He continued that way, movements growing in pace until Jim was only moments away from his climax, before pulling back to focus his attention on the man's head, sucking gently whilst his tongue did devilish things to the Irishman's tip, one calloused hand stroking his shaft swiftly.

Nevertheless, when he finally spilled his seed over the lips of the muscular blonde, it was Sherlock's name that graced Jim's lips, the Irishman relaxing into the bed for a few long moments before waving the sniper away so he could change, knowing he wouldn't return the favour until later that evening.

 


End file.
